


Courtship

by karenmcfadyyon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-28
Updated: 2010-04-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karenmcfadyyon/pseuds/karenmcfadyyon





	Courtship

"Somehow, I'm not sure that our diplomatic efforts should include the Magical Mystery Tour," Rodney said.

John rolled his eyes. They were attempting to open diplomatic relations with the Ythaqa. The Ythaqa, apparently, placed a great deal of importance on metaphysical diplomatic relations as well as the physical. "You weren't even born when that album came out."

"And I suppose you were," Rodney muttered.

John ignored this and looked at Teyla. "So if we go through this ritual, they'll formalize an agreement?" he asked Teyla.

"If we go through this ritual and they are satisfied by the results, yes," Teyla corrected. "The ritual opens the heart and mind of all who participate, so that we may know one another better."

That made him a little uneasy. "Opens the mind? Because, you know, I've got security codes and other stuff in my head that doesn't need to be shared."

Teyla arched an eyebrow and turned to speak to the Tressalar, who smiled indulgently at her and shook her head, laughing softly. Her consort laughed, too, his teeth showing very white against darker skin.

"Not things stored in the memory, Major, but desires, goals, that which the soul seeks." Teyla grimaced slightly. The Athosians had their own spiritual pursuits, and Teyla combined her spiritual beliefs with the kind of pragmatism a leader had to have. "And that which the heart desires."

John considered that. That sounded significantly harmless. "For example, like the fact that I'm not happy if I can't fly?"

Teyla smiled and nodded. "If that is what your soul seeks, exactly."

"So, what, they're going to find out I want to be able to make all the Ancient tech work as well as the Major?" Rodney sounded amused, though.

Teyla nodded. "If that is—"

"What my soul seeks, got it." Rodney looked at John, shrugged. "I'm not sure how Elizabeth's going to feel about us tripping on Ythaqan acid, and I'd feel a lot more comfortable if we could get Dr. Beckett a sample ahead of time."

"This is a sacred rite to the Ythaqa, McKay," Teyla said evenly. "I do not believe the Tressalar would allow this."

"We'll do it," John said, making the decision. "Teyla, you've been through this, and you know these people, I'll accept your judgement."

She smiled at him, turned to the Tressalar and spoke quietly to her.

The Tressalar responded and bowed her head graciously.

"Major, we must leave our weapons outside the pavilion." Teyla gestured to a table nearby. "They will bring them to us when the rite has finished."

John considered that. Despite the touchy-feely spiritual approach, the   
Ythaqa were at least capable of Earth's level of technology. It was carefully disguised, probably because of the Wraith, but it seemed unlikely that they needed to worry about some Ythaqan getting experimental with a P-90 when they had their own very effective projectile weapons. "Okay, I'll agree to that if the Tressalar has them under guard. I don't want anybody getting hurt if somebody decides to check them out."

Teyla nodded and passed that on. The Tressalar nodded at John, and her consort spoke to the leader of what John assumed was the Tressalar's guard or army.

The Tressalar rose, her long sleeves falling back as she raised her arms in the air and spoke to the people gathered in front of the pavilion.

After a few moments, she stopped speaking and the assembly answered as if they'd been practicing.

Teyla caught John's glance at the assembly. "It is a prayer, Major."

"Ah."

Rodney made an exasperated sound. "Religion."

"Rodney," John said warningly.

Rodney gave him a look. "Yes, Captain Kirk."

Okay, for an instant, he really wanted to hit Rodney, so maybe he had better start thinking of things that were a little less annoying, or the Tressalar might very well decide that all of them were homicidal.

Rodney smirked again and turned toward the table to divest himself of his gun. Ford followed, and put his handgun, his P-90, extra clips for both, a knife and, Jesus, Ford was carrying a garrote? John opened his mouth to ask about that, closed it again and tabled the question for a later time.

Teyla put down her P-90, and emptied her vest pockets of odd little arcane items, include, yes, a garrote.

That explained Ford's, he thought and stepped up to get rid of his own weapons.

That completed, the Tressalar and her consort smiled, bowed, and led them into the small pavilion behind the dais.

Out of the wind, it was downright pleasant, and there was a brazier or something over in the center of the circular area that radiated heat. The floor was covered in furs, which made John guiltily aware he was wearing shoes that weren't any too clean. There was a high, narrow table near the brazier and one of the Tressalar's attendants put a tray on it as the Tressalar and her consort stood beside it.

Six small silver cups, a slim, silver pitcher, and what looked like a cake or a loaf of banana bread cut into six thin pieces.

"You've done this before," John asked Teyla without looking at her. "Right?"

"Yes, Major, several years ago."

He could hear amusement under her calm.

The consort lifted the small plate and held it out for each of them to take a slice. The Tressalar lifted the pitcher and poured some of the contents into each cup, beckoned them each forward to take one. She gave a cup to her consort, and he gave her a slice of the cake; they exchanged an affectionate look and came around the table to stand with John's team.

The Tressalar spoke to Teyla again, her voice both kind and amused.

"Now we will partake," Teyla said and bit into her slice of the cake.

John glanced at Ford and Rodney and nodded, ate his own in two bites. The cake was a little dry and bland, but the drink was sweet and spiced with something that reminded him of cinnamon. John tasted it, looked sidelong to see Teyla drink hers down all at once and mentally shrugged before draining his own cup. Rodney was a little slower to follow, but Ford tossed his back quickly and suppressed a cough.

The Tressalar and her consort smiled and nodded and sat down on the furs.

John nodded and sat down cross-legged, glared at Rodney until Rodney followed his example. Teyla and Ford, across from them, did the same.

And that was it.

He glanced at Teyla meaningfully and she nodded at him fractionally, warning him to stay put.

Okay, fine, he could stay put.

The Tressalar smiled and began to sing, something wordless and crystalline, and even if it was weird, it was lovely. John let himself relax, let himself follow the rise and fall of her voice until her consort joined the song in a complex counterpoint, and that was even better.

It was hypnotic, in fact, and he realized too late that his eyes were drifting shut and that his fingers had released the cup to let it fall on the furs. He tried to force his eyes open again, looked across to where Ford and Teyla both lay on the furs, evidently unconscious.

His head felt too heavy on his shoulders, but he managed to turn it, to look over at Rodney, whose head was drooping toward his chest. Rodney he said, or thought he said, and then he was gone, drifting under, falling back, and there was softness under his cheek...

...It's warm, but the softness under his skin is pleasant, even sensual. He stretches and the fur tickles his chest and belly, and someone is stroking his back. Smiling, he rolls over and is kissed, deeply, lushly, and it doesn't seem strange that beard stubbles scrapes against his own, it seems natural. His arm is around a waist, and there is firm, broad muscle against his chest, no soft curves, and there is an erection pressing against his own, slick and hot and thick. He shudders with pleasure, and spreads his legs apart and a big hand strokes his inner thigh, cups his balls. An oily finger strokes behind his balls, strokes into him, and he whimpers and sucks on the tongue that presses into his mouth. The finger moves inside him, finds a sweet spot, and he pushes down into that pressure, and it's so damn good, insanely good. He spreads his legs farther and the mouth over his moves down his jaw, down his throat, down to his nipple and sends a bolt of pleasure down to his cock, down to that finger working his ass, and now there are two fingers in him and he's holding onto Rodney's head—Rodney?—while Rodney bites his nipple, sucks it to soothe it, and bites it again. He moans out loud, and hears his moan echoed from elsewhere in the room.

There's someone else in the room, he realizes, he and Rodney are not alone and he turns his head, sees Ford lying on his back, naked and shiny with sweat while Teyla rides him, her slim legs bent, her back arched so that her breasts sway with each roll of her hips. Ford is touching one breast, stroking one nipple between thumb and forefinger, his other hand curved around Teyla's waist. Teyla rises and he can see Ford's cock sliding out and then in again and she tosses her hair, moans again.

They're both beautiful, he thinks and then turns his head back to press his cheek against the furs as Rodney moves to his other nipple. The first is still wet from Rodney's mouth, and the air feels cool, and Rodney's fingers move in and out of his ass, hitting that sweet spot every damn time and he wants, God, he wants, and he knows what he wants, he wants Rodney's cock in his ass, wants Rodney to fuck him raw. He pulls his legs up so his feet are flat against the furs, fucks himself on Rodney's fingers and tugs at Rodney's hair until Rodney comes back up to devour his mouth, his cock pressing hard against John's before he adjusts it to slide behind John's balls. He tilts his hips up and the tip presses against him. Rodney pushes forward, still eating his mouth, sucking on his tongue and Rodney's cock feels blunt and thick and a little painful when the head slips past the ring of muscle. He pushes down, bears down and then Rodney's all the way in, balls slapping against his ass, big hands holding his hips up for a better angle and Rodney's cock is hitting just the right spot, jolting his bones with pleasure and heat with each thrust. He turns his head to see Ford and Teyla watching them, and even though there's the taste of shame, there's also arousal and increased excitement knowing Ford can see him being fucked, that Teyla is watching him, too.

Rodney is playing his body skillfully, throat and mouth and nipples and cock and ass, and he tosses his head against the furs as the pleasure builds and builds, as Rodney's cock moves in and out of him, as Rodney's hands drive him higher and higher until he feels his balls draw up as the tension coils at the base of his spine and he knows he's going to come and it's not going to be just an orgasm, it's going to be a fucking tactical pre-emptive orgasmic strike. "Rod-ney," he gasps, and wraps his legs around Rodney, forcing Rodney in deeper. It hurts a little, but it hurts good, and the jolt of pleasure is like electricity and then his balls get really tight and he throws his head back, arching his back and comes hard, shooting so hard he feels it on his chest and the underside of his chin and Rodney's fingers are gripping his ass hard enough he's going to have bruises. One thrust, two, and then Rodney gasps and bites the crook of his shoulder, presses in deep and John feels slickness and heat as Rodney comes inside him.

Teyla cries out then, and he's so dazed he can't even look, and then Rodney is kissing his mouth again, slow and lazy and almost languid, both of them sated.

He closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them, the Tressalar and her consort are standing between him and Rodney and Ford and Teyla, both of them as splendidly naked and sheened with sweat as the four of them. "It is done," the Tressalar says throatily and raises both hands.

He can't keep his eyes open, so he wraps an arm around Rodney's neck and closes them, lets himself sink under again, sticky and sweaty and oily...

*

...and John opened his eyes and sat upright, stunned to find himself fully dressed and still wearing all his gear. Across from him, Teyla lay curled on her side, Ford's arm under her neck, and they were both likewise fully dressed and geared. What the—he turned to look at Rodney, who was lying beside him, facing him, also fully dressed and geared up.

The only thing that was, ah, a little off was the definitely sticky and damp sensation he had in the region of his shorts. Fuck, he was a little too old for wet dreams, and then the dream returned in all its vivid Technicolor and sensation and he went scarlet, probably all the way down to the sticky mess in his shorts.

He'd dreamt Rodney had fucked him. He'd dreamt he'd wanted Rodney to fuck him, and wanted it pretty damn desperately. He'd dreamt he'd watched Ford and Teyla fucking at the same time.

There were evidently things in his subconscious that he really wasn't ready to know about, not that it mattered whether or not he was ready, not now that he knew them anyway.

"Rodney," he barked and reached over to shake Rodney's shoulder. "Wake up."

Rodney did, with an abruptness that was almost comical. "Wha—Jesus Christ!"

He wondered if Rodney had enjoyed any interesting dreams. From the way Rodney avoided John's gaze, John had a feeling Rodney had. Which was scary in a distant way. The Tressalar and her consort were nowhere to be seen.

Teyla and Ford, however, were sitting up, and Ford was smiling a little shyly at Teyla, who put her hand on his arm briefly before rising with enviable grace. "Major? McKay? You are well?"

He sounded himself. Well, except for damp shorts, he was fine, and obviously Rodney hadn't fucked him, because he wasn't sore in the least. "Yeah, I'm fine" His tone was a little short, and Teyla regarded him with mild surprise. "I just wasn't expecting to pass out."

"Me, either." Rodney's tone was sour. "What was in that stuff?"

"I don't know," Ford said, "But I don't have a hangover, so I'm not complaining."

There was that. "True."

The door to the pavilion opened and three servants entered. One carried a tray from which some really enticing aromas drifted; a second carried a large silver ewer and basin, and the third carried what looked like a pile of linen.

The first spoke to Teyla and bowed.

Teyla answered and returned the bow, turned to John. "The Tressalar invites us to refresh ourselves before returning to the audience chamber."

His stomach growled. "I guess this stuff won't knock us out, then."

Teyla's eyebrows drew together slightly. "We have gone through the rite, Major. This is merely breakfast."

Oooookay. He nodded. "Tell them thanks."

One corner of her mouth lifted. "I have."

Indeed, the three were already filing out. Ford was already pouring steaming water from the ewer into the basin and splashing his face with it. John privately wished there were a lot more privacy to take care of his own problem, but given none, he took his turn washing his face and then poured a cup of something that smelled like tea, but tasted like—and had a kick—like coffee. The bread was warm and tasted normal enough, and there was something like butter, lightly sweetened, and it was all good, but he and Rodney couldn't seem to look at each other normally, and they were both barking at each other. By contrast, he rather thought Teyla and Ford were doing a lot more smiling at each other, and they certainly were exchanging a lot of looks.

He knew it was fucking childish to snark at Rodney over a dream, and tried to modulate his tone, but Rodney wasn't having it, Rodney gave him attitude all the way to the audience chamber, and only shut up once they were there and the Tressalar not only granted them trade rights, but also gifted them with a variety of trade goods, including various food items, as well as textiles, and, yeah, some of their niftier little power sources.

They weren't ZPMs, but batteries were hard to come by in Pegasus, and these appeared to be strikingly similar. Plus, there were some nice little data storage devices for Rodney's team to dissect and/or utilize. It was a good start, and John was happy to accept, although he was happier to head back toward the jumper.

He didn't feel much like talking, Rodney was sullenly silent, and Ford and Teyla trailed behind to talk softly to one another, which only depressed him more. By the time they got back to Atlantis, he wanted nothing more than a shower, a full meal, and far away from Rodney McKay.

Fortunately, Rodney seemed to feel the same way. The debriefing was short and sweet, and if Weir thought he and Rodney were a little less enthused than the good news warranted, Teyla and Ford more than made up for it.

So, that was that, and they had a good trading partner and potential ally.

He just wished he was happier about it.

 

John's dismal mood didn't really ease for a while. His jerk-off fantasy partners kept morphing from Trish or Maggie, or any one of the women he'd either slept with or lusted after, to Rodney. That was unsettling enough, but the most unnerving thing was that Rodney McKay had evidently infected his dreams. Not just the erotic dreams, either.

He dreamt one night of coming home, wherever home was, and finding Rodney sitting at a desk, typing busily. He'd put his hands on Rodney's shoulders and kissed the back of his neck, ruffled Rodney's hair and had laughed when Rodney had grouched at him.

That was more unnerving than the sexual dreams.

Worst of all, they had a mission the next afternoon, and Rodney's mood was no better than his. They bickered over where to land, they bickered over the relative importance of the ruined city, and they bickered about what part of it to examine first until Teyla, clearly annoyed, muttered something to Ford and Corrigan and took them off in another direction.

"I'm going to have a look at the structure on the other side of that square," Rodney told him snottily and stalked off.

Gritting his teeth, he nodded at Stackhouse and Markham to go with Rodney and followed Teyla and Ford and Corrigan.

Ford and Teyla, he thought, watching them, were totally living out their dream, they were totally doing it. Not that there was anything inappropriate for him to observe, but with his heightened awareness, he noticed exchanges of looks and smiles, and even jokes. No touching, at least not beyond anything they'd ever done as team members, but it made him feel sullen again. Ford got Teyla and he got Rodney. Where was the fairness in that?

And with that thought, he realized that he was being a complete asshole, the whole thing was ridiculous and he had to pull his head out of his ass before he got into trouble. He liked Rodney, never mind they bickered like kids every damn time they were around each other, the bickering was fun and neither of them gave an inch, exactly, but their bickering eventually led them to a shared position. Usually when they bickered, they were being snarky, not snotty, and that hadn't been true the last few weeks. And despite Rodney's attitude, he wasn't sure at all that he hadn't been the one to start it most days.

He owed Rodney an apology. At the very least, he owed Rodney civil behavior. It wasn't Rodney's fault some alien potion had given him an unpleasant epiphany or fantasy or whatever the fuck it was. Rodney had been dubious about the whole rite to begin with, but he'd gone with Teyla's estimation of the harmlessness of it. "You guys have everything under control," he told Ford. "I'm going to go and keep an eye on McKay."

"Don't push him off any heights," Ford said and went serious when he took in John's expression. "Sorry, sir, that was a joke."

"Yeah, I know. I guess I've been kind of a bear to McKay." He felt even more ashamed. "I think I'll go see if he'll accept an olive branch."

"Better make it a long one," Ford advised.

He snorted and started off in the direction Stackhouse and Markham had been taking when he'd left them. "Stackhouse," he said, keying the radio. "Where are you guys?"

"We're over by that fountain we went over. There's a building here that's pretty much in one piece, and Dr. McKay is investigating it."

"By himself?" He walked a little faster, changed direction toward the fountain.

"No, sir. Markham's just inside, but Dr. McKay was pretty insistent we leave him alone to work."

Leaving Rodney alone was probably not a good idea in Rodney's present mood. "I'll be there in a minute, don't let him do anything dangerous."

"No, sir."

As if either Stackhouse or Markham could stop Rodney, he thought and sped up, trotting around the corner in the direction of the fountain.

He'd just gotten there, a little out of breath—he had to get more regular workouts into his schedule when Stackhouse bolted from the area of the fountain toward a mostly intact building and through the shattered doors.

"Hey!" He followed, keyed his radio. "Stackhouse, report."

"Sir, Markham just told me Dr. McKay is down."

A bolt of sheer terror made him run; he flew through the door and came to a sudden stop at the edge of a sheer drop-off. It looked like something had exploded in the sublevels of the building, and oh, dear Christ, Rodney lay at the bottom of at least one storey, maybe two, face down and unmoving. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, get me something, get that cable from the jumper, I'm going down. And Markham, get on the radio to Weir, get an emergency medical team here ASAP, tell 'em they need a backboard and a basket, we've got to get him up."

Markham hesitated. He turned and roared "GO!" into Markham's face and both Markham and Stackhouse went. He knelt near the edge, studied the goddamn fractured structure and figured he was going to risk it, lowered himself carefully, fingers searching out handholds, placing his feet carefully.

Stackhouse got back when he was halfway down, lowered the damn cable and he hooked it around himself, rappelled the rest of the way. His hands were shaking when he unhooked himself and he scrambled over to Rodney, crouched and felt for a pulse. Oh, thank God, thank God, it was there, but Rodney was still way too still.

"Rodney," he said and re-checked Rodney's pulse. It was weak, but it was there. "Hang in there, Rodney. Help's on the way." His throat felt like there was a vise around it and his vision kept blurring. "You just hang in there, dammit, this wasn't supposed to happen." He wanted to touch Rodney, but he was afraid to do too much, to move anything. He settled to touching Rodney's cheek. "Please, God," he whispered, and leaned close. "Hang on, Rodney, don't you dare let go. Don't you dare."

Rodney made a faint sound, not quite a moan.

John's heart hammered. "Yeah, I know, it's gotta hurt, but we've got help coming, and Doc'll get you fixed up, good as new."

Rodney made another sound, almost a moan, and his eyelids fluttered. John kept his fingers on Rodney's cheek, stroked lightly. "It's okay, Rodney, I'm here, we're going to get you out of here."

"Sir!"

He looked up, saw Ford leaning over the side. "I'm coming down, sir," Ford called, "I've got the kit."

What earthly use Ford thought the kit would be in the face of this, John couldn't say. It had Tylenol, for Christ's sake. "Stay there," he called up. "That kit isn't going to do a damn bit of good. Did Markham get Weir?"

"Yes, sir. Dr. Beckett's got a team on the way in a jumper, they're loading up the jumper now."

"Tell them to fucking hurry!" He stroked Rodney's cheek again, tested Rodney's pulse. It hadn't gotten any weaker, he didn't think. "Hang on, Rodney. They're on the way."

There was blood on the stone under Rodney's head and it seemed to be spreading, but he wasn't stupid, moving Rodney's head could be the worst fucking idea in the world.

Ford had completely disregarded his orders and was rappelling down with a lot of speed and not much elegance. He snapped the cable off himself and came to crouch beside John. "Markham says McKay was climbing down here."

He felt a flare of hope. "How far down was he?"

Ford's expression was somber. "About a third of the way."

That was still too fucking far. He keyed his radio. "Markham, what's the status on that medical team?"

"They're inbound, sir."

Thank Christ. He touched Rodney's face again. "Hang in there, Rodney, they're on their way."

Rodney's eyelids fluttered again and he made that pained sound.

"He's bleeding a lot," Ford said softly.

"I know he's bleeding a lot, I don't dare fucking move him!" He didn't mean to roar at Ford. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can't fucking believe this." His vision blurred again. "Rodney, don't you dare fucking die on me."

The radio crackled and Markham's voice came out of it. "Sir, they just came through the gate, they're going to land as close as they can, in the open area on the other side of the fountain."

"Roger that."

Rodney's hands flexed and his eyelids opened briefly. "God!" An agonized gasp.

"Easy, easy." He leaned over Rodney. "We've got you, Rodney, and they're on their way."

Voices above and footsteps and Ford got up. John didn't move, he kept leaning over Rodney when some debris skittered down. "Goddammit, be careful," he shouted, planting one palm on the other side of Rodney.

Ford shouted something he couldn't make out, but the debris stopped, and Rodney groaned again, blinked again.

"I'm here, Rodney, and Doc's on his way." He couldn't see again, goddammit, and swiped at his eyes with his jacket sleeve. "It's gonna be okay, just hang on."

"Ah, God." Another gasp.

"I know, I know." He was sweating like a pig, too, he could feel it dripping down his sides. "Doc's just gotta get down here with us."

There was noise behind him and then Beckett was there, thankfully.

"I need you t' move out of the way, Major, and be ready t' do whatever I tell you." Beckett's Scots was always stronger when under stress.

John moved, but not far. Another one of the doctors and a med tech appeared with a collar and a backboard. He glanced over and saw Markham and Ford manhandling an emergency basket to the ground and that was a good thing. He backed up to let them get the collar on Rodney, and then helped the med tech and the two doctors get the board under Rodney.

"I don't want to flip him until we've got him in the infirmary," Beckett said quietly.

He noticed that Beckett had managed to get gauze under Rodney's head and the blood had stopped spreading.

"All right, lads, let's get him in the basket."

He helped lift, and felt fresh worry because Rodney was out again. There was an IV in, and Beckett cut Rodney's sleeve away to get a blood pressure cuff on.

"Doc?" he asked.

"He's in shock, Major, and I won't know the full extent of his injuries until I get him back, but at the very least, we're dealing with a head injury." Beckett was busy with Rodney, but he spared a glance for John. "Now, we need to bring him up just as careful as ever can be, so if you'll get up there and supervise yon lads in getting that pulley working, I'd be verra grateful."

Hell, yes. Ford and Markham were already on the way up, and even though rock climbing wasn't his strongest sport, he made it up fairly quickly.

Stackhouse and Bates had already improvised a pulley of sorts to help keep the basket level on the way up, and he suspected Beckett was just trying to get him out of the way when he saw it. His back and shoulders would do, though to help get the basket up, and he was glad to do it, gladder still when they carefully maneuvered the basket to solid ground after a heart-stopping several minutes. They carried the basket to the jumper and without any hesitation, he turned to Ford.

"You guys take Corrigan back in the other jumper, I'm riding in this one."

Ford nodded. "We'll be right behind you, sir."

John nodded and slid into the second jumper before the hatch closed, slid to the side so Beckett wouldn't notice him. Somehow, while he'd been talking to Ford, they'd gotten more work done. There was a splint on Rodney's right wrist and one on his right leg and Beckett was talking quietly with the other doctor.

He crouched as the jumper lifted, reached out to put his fingertips on Rodney's uninjured leg. It might not have been the best idea, because Beckett noticed him, gave him a sharp look as if wondering how he'd gotten there.

"How is he?" he asked, to divert Beckett's gaze.

It worked. Beckett looked down at Rodney again. "You did exactly right, Major," he told John. "Not moving him was the wisest course, considering."

John nodded, but his eyes burned again. "He's going to be all right."

Beckett looked down and sighed. "He's strong and healthy, Major, so we can hope for the best."

That wasn't much of a promise, but John kept his hand on Rodney's leg, willing it to be true.

There was an emergency team in the bay when they landed, and John trailed along, feeling more helpless than ever, when they rushed the gurney to the infirmary.

"Major!" Weir caught up with him. "What happened?"

"He fell." His throat hurt. "Markham said he was climbing down into this sublevel, and he fell."

"What was he doing climbing anywhere?" Her voice was sharp.

"I was on my way there, I knew Rodney wouldn't listen to Markham." John felt his eyes sting again. "I didn't get there in time."

"Oh, John, you didn't cause this." She stopped, put a hand on his arm. "You know that."

John looked away. "Yeah, I know." But it didn't feel like it.

Weir patted him, and they were both moving again. In the infirmary, of course, they couldn't go into the treatment room, so they both paced. Ford and Teyla joined them, and then Markham trailed in, looking hangdog.

"It wasn't your fault," John told him, divining the problem; didn't he have his own guilt? "It was an accident."

"I told him it wasn't a good idea," Markham said quietly. "You know how stubborn Dr. McKay can be. He said he was getting some strange readings. I should have called you then, sir, and convinced him to wait for the cables."

"It wasn't your fault," John repeated. If it was anyone's fault, it was his fault for having a fucking snit because of a fucking dream and leaving Markham and Stackhouse to keep an eye on Rodney.

One of the nurses came out of the room, carrying Rodney's clothing. John turned to her, but she ignored him, headed off in another direction. He paced again, and Teyla stood in front of him, holding out of cup of coffee. "Major, you will do McKay no good by wearing yourself out."

"I know. Thanks." John took the cup, sipped at it. "I can't believe this. I can't fucking believe this." He looked at Weir who sat down and rested her head in her hands. That just made his stomach more upset, but when he paced back down to the other side of the room, Beckett finally came out, smiling.

Smiling was good, really good. John stopped dead, waited, almost holding his breath.

"Rodney's a very lucky man," Beckett said cheerfully. "He's got a concussion, but no skull fracture, his neck and back are fine. Dr. Mears is putting some stitches in that head wound, and he's going to be out of it for a bit. He's also got a fractured wrist and a fractured tibia, so he's going to be laid up for a bit, and he's going to be pretty uncomfortable with the bruising, but he's a very lucky fellow."

"His wrist and leg?" It sounded too goddamn good to be true.

"His wrist." Beckett smiled at John. "A distal radius fracture." He held up his wrist and tapped it. "It's not an unusual injury for a fall; the instinct is to put out a hand to break the fall. And the tibia, that's not uncommon for this kind of fall, either."

Wrist and leg. John's knees went wobbly suddenly and he took a chair, leaned his arms on his knees. "He's going to be okay."

Beckett nodded, still pleased. "He's going to be fine, although if I know Rodney, he's going to be a bit cranky."

"So can we see him?" John lifted his head.

"In a bit," Beckett agreed. "And for just a few minutes."

"Thank you, Carson." Weir's voice was relieved. "And thank God."

"Amen," Beckett said. The nurse came back. "Jenna, I need Dr. Alexander."

"Yes, Dr. Beckett." She headed out of the infirmary.

"Alexander?" John asked.

"Orthopedics," Beckett said and nodded reassuringly before returning to the treatment room.

John dry-scrubbed his face, rubbed the back of his head. "Jesus."

"That's good news," Ford said, sounding genuinely relieved.

"It is indeed." Teyla sat down next to John, patted his shoulder. "He is strong, he will soon mend."

"Hey, I'm more worried about me, he scared the hell out of me." John tried to smile, but all he could see was Rodney, lying still and broken on the ground, and the blood pooling under his head. "I'm not going to relax until I hear him bitching."

Weir laughed a little. "That will be a relief," she agreed. "And now I'm getting back to work. Would you three like to join me for a debriefing?"

It was on the tip of John tongue to say no, but one look at Weir's expression suggested that was not a good idea. He bit it back and followed her out of the infirmary without a word.

The debriefing was pointless anyway; they'd barely been there long enough to do anything useful before Rodney's fall. Corrigan pointed this out, and insisted that they had to return.

John let the discussion wash over him, was grateful when Weir let them loose again. Heading back to the infirmary, he stopped at the dining hall on the way to filch some of the remaining chocolate; he could hear Rodney, voice blurry with either drugs or concussion, complaining that his head hurt, the minute he stepped in.

It made John grin, but it was relief. A cranky Rodney was a normal Rodney, and hell, if his vision blurred now, that was relief, too. He skirted the curtain, found the nurse patiently adjusting the back of Rodney's bed. Rodney's right leg was in a cast, and so was his wrist, and a good-sized gauze bandage adorned the right side of his head.

It could have been so much worse.

"Hey," John said, interrupting Rodney's complaint. "How ya feeling?"

Rodney scowled at him. "Terrible."

"Yeah, I bet. You scared the hell out of me." John nodded at the nurse, edged over to the other side of the bed. "Please don't do that again."

Another scowl. "I didn't exactly intend to fall."

"Yeah, I know, but next time, try waiting for ropes or cable or something. I'm too young to have a heart attack." He held out the chocolate bar. "Brought you a get well present."

Rodney regarded it suspiciously. "Is this a joke?"

John was not going to lose his temper. "Nope."

Rodney's eyes narrowed. "Is this some sort of misplaced guilt?"

Okay, maybe he was. "Rodney, take the goddamn chocolate."

Rodney did.

"You scared the living shit out of me," John snapped. "Sue me for being a little concerned, I thought you were dead for a minute there."

"And then you'd have to break in a new scientist," Rodney snapped back and then put a hand to his head. "Ow."

Fuck, he was doing it again. "I didn't come here to bark at you, I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay." It was the nearest John could come to an apology, but Rodney was looking a little sheepish, too, so he guessed Rodney understood that.

Rodney sighed. "It had to be my right wrist," he grumbled.

John swallowed. "Yeah." He looked at the gauze on the right side of Rodney's head. "Stitches, huh?"

"Carson shaved my hair." Rodney's voice was glum.

He folded his arms. "Well, you were bleeding pretty badly."

"My foot slipped." Rodney transferred the chocolate to his left hand, looked at it unhappily. "And I dropped the scanner and lost my balance."

He nodded, looked at Rodney's bare toes, poking up out of the cast. "Isn't there a newer way to do that?" he asked, lifting his chin.

"Just my luck, Alexander's an old fashioned orthopedic surgeon." Rodney sighed again, put the chocolate on the table next to his bed. "My head hurts and Carson won't let me take so much as a goddamn Tylenol."

John nodded, swallowed hard. He wanted to touch Rodney. He really wanted to touch Rodney. His fingers were curled against the impulse to touch Rodney, and he kept his arms folded to prevent himself from getting any closer, but he kept inching toward the bed in spite of himself. If he got any closer, he was going to be in the bed.

Rodney plucked at the blanket with his good hand. "He won't even bring me my laptop." Forlorn voice and that was the last thing John had expected.

It undid his resolve and he reached out, patted Rodney's good leg. "I'll get it for you. Is it in the lab?"

Rodney went from forlorn to suspicious. "Are you sure this isn't misplaced guilt."

John sighed. "Lab?"

Another sheepish look. "Yeah."

He patted Rodney's leg again. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Eat some chocolate, it'll cheer you up."

Rodney rubbed his forehead again. "Why are you being nice to me?"

He resisted the shame assisted desire to snap, and then he had to resist the shame assisted urge to pat. "Rodney, you're a friend of mine, and you got hurt and scared the hell out of me, why shouldn't I be nice to you?"

A faint line appeared between Rodney's eyebrows. "Oh. I wasn't aware you considered me your friend."

John opened his mouth. Closed it. Felt his face get hot as he remembered just how friendly he'd been since the Ythaqan rite. "Just because we bark at each other a lot—we're still friends, aren't we?" Although, pointed out a little voice in the back of his head, these days, he wouldn't mind a lot more. And just thinking that made his face get hotter. "I mean, Jesus, Rodney."

Rodney flushed a little. "Oh. Uh, thank you, Major."

His throat ached a little. "Rodney, my friends call me John."

Rodney blinked. "Thank you, John." Rusty voice.

John swallowed hard. "Okay, I'll be right back."

Rodney was avoiding his gaze again. "Okay. Thanks." Faintly.

John went.

 

The worst thing, John decided later, about having a crush on his male teammate was that it was his snarky, brilliant, obnoxious male teammate. Not to mention utterly clueless male teammate. This was just as well, because it not only kept Rodney from noticing, it enabled John to look a lot longer than he should have been looking.

The third day after Rodney's accident, John found Rodney trying to get out of the infirmary bed against medical advice and the entreaties of the nurse on duty who was looking seriously as if she was considering sedation. John came in and put both hands on Rodney's shoulders before Rodney hopped out of bed one-legged. "Whoa," he told Rodney seriously. "I don't think that's a walking cast, Rodney."

Brief look from eyes that were suspiciously bright. "Then bring me some damn crutches!"

Okay, Rodney was seriously, seriously upset, not just cranky, and that made John's chest hurt. "Take it easy, what's going on?"

"I want a shower." Rodney's voice was shaky.

"You can't have a shower yet," the nurse said firmly. "You can't get that dressing wet, Dr. McKay. I can give you a sponge bath."

"I don't want a sponge bath." Rodney's eyes were still too bright, even if he sounded snarky. "I want a goddamn shower and I want to shave and I want to get out of here."

"Hey, hey, just settle down." He held Rodney's shoulders, tried not to notice how much of Rodney was exposed by the rucked up hospital gown and failed utterly. "If he keeps the dressing clear, why can't we just wrap up the casts and let him shower?"

The nurse—what the fuck was her name, he ought to remember, dammit, he was in the infirmary himself often enough—glared at him.

"Why don't you check with Dr. Beckett," John suggested and tried for a charming smile. He wasn't sure it was a total success, but at least she stopped snapping and went out to ask.

He gave up trying to ignore Rodney's bare legs and let go of Rodney's shoulders. "In the meantime, you're supposed to keep that leg elevated, aren't you?"

Sullen look. "Yeah." Then, grudgingly. "Thanks."

"De nada, I know what it feels like." He couldn't not look as Rodney swung his good leg back into bed, which exposed a lot more than he suspected Rodney realized, and dear God, he was practically ogling Rodney's crotch. This realization made him lift the leg with the cast very gently and apologetically back onto the bed and he twitched the blanket across said lap while staring determinedly at Rodney's toes. "But let me give you a piece of advice, if you snark at the nurses, they get even."

After a moment, Rodney's mouth curved slightly. "I've noticed."

"For an allegedly brilliant scientist, you can be a little dim," John told him and was gratified when Rodney snorted. "How's the head today?"

Rodney shrugged. "At least I get to take Tylenol for it now."

"Yeah, well, since I was afraid that bigger than average brain was leaking out on the floor, I'm just grateful your head's as hard as it is."

That got a real smile. "Now you're just trying to annoy me."

"That's what friends are for," John agreed and rested his hip on the edge of the bed. "So what brought all this on?"

"You should know, Carson says you're the only other patient he's had who's as bad as I am." Quirky grin and Rodney's bad temper seemed to have dissolved.

"Cabin fever."

Rodney let his head fall back on the pillow. "Boredom is deadly."

"I'll dig some stuff up to keep your brain busy," John told him and couldn't help himself, he patted Rodney again. "Just don't pick fights with the nurses, okay?"

"I should have brought an electric razor," Rodney mourned. "It's a little too hard to shave with this goddamn cast on.

"Quit fighting with the nurses and I'll give you a hand," he heard himself say and nearly bit his tongue snapping his mouth shut.

Rodney blinked and looked oddly grateful. "You would?"

"No twitching or bitching," John said, unable to back away from that grateful look.

Rodney flushed, glanced away. "Thank you."

"Let's see if you get the okay," John said and studied Rodney's face. He could do that when Rodney wasn't looking at him. Strong jaw, pugnacious chin, and he had the sudden image of a very young Rodney being challenged by adults who weren't as bright, of a very young Rodney lifting that chin stubbornly and it felt like his heart rolled over.

Maybe that was why Rodney tended to truculence.

The nurse came back in, her expression irritated. "Dr. Beckett says you may have a shower if you wear a cap." She held up a plastic shower cap.

Rodney brightened. "I'll do it."

John grinned.

The nurse rolled her eyes. "All right, I'll get you set up, Dr. McKay."

Rodney looked at him then, clearly pleased. "Thank you."

John shrugged. "Is your dopp kit still in your quarters? I'll go get it."

Rodney flushed again. "Yes, it is."

John gave him a thumb's up. "I'll be back."

He cursed himself and his inability to keep his mouth shut all the way there and all the way back.

So.

Looking was seductive, and touching was downright addictive, never mind the touching was confined to shaving Rodney once he was out of the shower and in a wheelchair with his leg elevated, wearing a clean gown and a robe. The only thing he touched was Rodney's face, and that was weirdly exciting since guys, generally, didn't go around touching each other's faces. Beard stubble, then smooth skin after the passage of the razor, and he shaved very carefully, more carefully than he did for himself.

Rodney held very still, smelling of soap and shaving gel and Jesus, himself; when Beckett came in and gave them both an odd look, John pretended not to see it, he just grabbed the damp washcloth and wiped Rodney's face off. "There, done. Better?"

Rodney didn't quite avoid his gaze, but he was a little flushed. "Much, thanks." Swift sidelong look. "A lot."

He felt guilty about that because he'd wanted to do it, he'd liked doing it, and Rodney, Rodney had no idea he was obsessing over how Rodney's cheek felt under his fingertips. "You're welcome. Next time I'm in here and can't fend for myself, I'll expect a little help."

That eased the momentary awkwardness. "Oh, you mean you need someone to protect you from the nurses fawning all over you?"

"Something like that." John grinned. "Now, you want a hand getting back in bed?"

"What I want is to sleep in my own bed, but that will do." Rodney gave Beckett a jaundiced look. "When do I get out of here?"

"When I feel certain you'll be able to maneuver around by yourself," Beckett said and gave John a look that was unnervingly shrewd.

John swallowed hard and pushed the wheelchair closer to the bed. Beckett stepped in before John could and helped Rodney up and into bed.

John's face went hot. "Well, you need anything, just send an SOS my way."

"Thanks." Rodney gave him a weirdly diffident smile. "I'll keep it in mind."

"Now I better get back to work before Weir docks my pay."

"You get paid?" Rodney looked at Beckett. "He gets paid? Why didn't anybody tell us?"

"They thought we'd come for the pure science," Beckett told him, and grinned at John, which went a long way toward making him feel a little better. "Didn't we?"

"Damn." Rodney sank back against the pillow. "Don't let Elizabeth work you too hard."

John grinned again, and felt a wave of sheer affection at Rodney's exasperating smirk. Rodney was like one of those popup dolls that couldn't be knocked down. "I'll tell her you said so. Don't piss off the nurses."

"I'll try not to."

And then he escaped before he could embarrass himself any further.

He was so fucking doomed. Damn the Ythaqa anyway.

 

Rodney was not happy. In fact, he was very unhappy. At least he'd been released from the infirmary, so he could be unhappy privately.

He'd been nervous and unsettled since that damned rite with the Ythaqa; he'd irrationally sure that somehow, John Sheppard had divined the contents of his extremely unexpected pornographic dream. John's irritability had seemed to prove the point, no matter how irrational it seemed, so he'd been just as irritable right back to try and disprove whatever it was that John might suspect, and they'd spent the last few weeks being complete assholes to one another.

Their mutual irritability was something of a relief because the goddamned dream kept returning when he really didn't need to remember it. Which was why he'd lost his balance and nearly killed himself, in fact, because he'd been climbing down, thinking uncharitable thoughts about John when he'd been hit with an incredibly vivid memory of how it had felt to be buried balls deep in John Sheppard's ass, never mind it was a dream memory and not a real memory. He defied anyone to manage to keep from falling down at that, not that he planned on discussing it with anyone at any time in the near or far future.

So John showing up in the infirmary and being, well, typically confusing John Sheppard, and telling Rodney that of course they were friends had vastly reassured him that maybe they were both irritable, but it had nothing to do with John knowing what he'd dreamed or detecting anything odd about his behavior, it was just the way the two of them tended to relate in the day to day run of things.

Rodney could live with that. He could more than live with that. And if it were a little too nice to have John Sheppard offer to give him a hand with the shaving thing, he didn't have to tell anyone that, he could just...enjoy it.

And so he had. Right up until Carson Beckett had decided to tell him he thought perhaps the Major's feelings for him were a little more personal than most team leaders would cherish.

"Don't be ridiculous," he'd told Carson.

Whereupon Carson had told him that he'd seen tears in John's eyes when he'd been unconscious and lying on the goddamn basement floor. Carson thought Rodney ought to be aware, Carson said, and wasn't that just the last thing he needed to think about, whether or not John was suffering the same goddamned confusion?

"Dammit," Rodney said now and threw a book at the wall just because he could. Things were confusing enough since he'd had that goddamn dream, and he didn't like being confused. He could have dealt with the confusion and gotten over it all by himself if he'd still been working under the expectation that John was clueless.

Now, though, now—"Dammit," he said again and threw another book.

He'd been watching Ford and Teyla with morbid curiosity since the incident and hadn't seen anything really untoward until this afternoon, when Carson had wheeled him toward his quarters.

They'd inadvertently interrupted what appeared to have been a rather tender and private moment between the two, and while he'd pretended not to see, he'd felt like he'd had a punch in the belly.

Now Rodney had to deal with the worry that they might still be operating under some sort of leftover influence from the happy juice in that drink or in the wafer they'd consumed. Which meant he really ought to talk to Elizabeth Weir, but John was military, it wouldn't do his career any good, and even if they never saw Earth again, it wouldn't do John's reputation any good. He owed it to John to talk to him privately.

And he needed to talk to Carson, too, now he thought about it. When they'd returned and reported the intoxicant effect of the consumables served for the rite of hospitality, Carson had taken the requisite blood and hair samples.

Maybe he was worrying needlessly.

A knock at the door made him start. "Who is it?"

"John," came the familiar voice.

Dammit, dammit, dammit, but was it so bad to enjoy having a friend? He didn't have to think about the fact that John had a surprisingly delicate and careful touch for a guy who carried a P-90 routinely, or the fact that—dammit, Carson—John had been so worried about him when he'd fallen or that John had brought him chocolate when he'd finally been allowed to have visitors. He could just...enjoy having a friend with the same snarky communication style he had. Right?

"Come in," he said and the door slid open.

John stood there with a tray, offered him a surprisingly diffident smile. "I heard you were in quarters now, I thought I'd make sure you got something to eat."

Rodney blinked. Oh, he was so screwed. "Thank you," he said, and then, "Did Carson tell you?"

Was his imagination, or did John look a little flushed? "Uh, no, Ford and Teyla mentioned it." John stepped inside. "This table okay or you want it on the bed?"

"Table," Rodney decided. "Did you bring enough for two?"

No, he wasn't imagining it, John blushed again. "Uh, yeah, if you don't mind having company." He put the tray on the table, picked up a DVD case and held it for Rodney to see. "I was, uh, scavenging. I figured your boredom could be fatal for all of us if you get too creative with that imagination of yours."

Rodney took the case. Fellowship of the Ring in the extended version. "I thought you only watched football? And I don't have the right components to assemble anything dangerous," Rodney sighed. "Carson won't let me work at all for at least another week."

John took the DVD back. "Are you kidding? This is a classic. Markham's got the first two in extended, but we left before the extended version of Return of the King came back, so we only get the abbreviated version of that. And I wasn't just thinking of nuclear weapons." He grinned crookedly. "I was way more worried about any Ancient technology you might think of using.

Rodney shrugged. "The extended versions make more sense. Maybe we'll be able to get in touch with Earth soon and we can get the extended version of the third for Markham. We can watch it on my laptop."

John looked pleased. "Cool." He pulled the chair away from Rodney's desk. "We've got actual pot roast tonight. Well, sort of actual pot roast. It's meat from those herd animals the Tzira sold us."

He always preferred not thinking about where meat had come from, as irrational as that was. ""Pot roast," he said doubtfully and John lifted the covers off the plates. "And—what is that?"

"I have it on good authority that these are the Pegasus galaxy versions of carrots," John pointed, "Onions, and potatoes."

Rodney surveyed it. "Versions as in nutritional equivalents or versions as in they taste the same?"

John grinned. "Maybe I should be scared because I not only understood that, I already asked, too. As in they taste the same. And they do, I tasted them."

"Well, then," Rodney wheeled himself over to the table and John obligingly shifted the table so he didn't have to struggle to get close enough. "And what's that?" He pointed at the one dish that still had a cover.

"Dessert." John smirked. "Hey, I figured you had to eat infirmary food for three days, you deserved a treat. Uh uh, no peeking."

John had brought him a treat. He felt oddly off balance, but also scarily pleased. Or happy. Maybe he just felt happy. He didn't feel happy often, so he couldn't be sure.

John had even brought him coffee.

They ate dinner companionably together, and John filled him in on the mission rosters for the last several days.

He wondered whether or not he should mention anything about Ford and Teyla, but—"Have you noticed, uh, that Ford and Teyla seem to be getting close?"

John, perplexingly, blushed again, and then he realized why John might be blushing and felt his own face get hot. "Yeah, I, uh, noticed. That's okay; they're not letting it get in the way of the team."

Of course, he should have realized that as team leader, John would be paying attention to the reality pretty closely.

"No," he agreed, although he had to admit, he wouldn't have noticed it affecting the team unless they'd stripped naked and, no, Rodney, do not think about the dream, he told himself firmly and took a bite of an oddly burgundy hued vegetable that tasted nothing like beets and totally like potatoes. "That's good," he said and stuck his fork into another piece. His fingers were getting more adept at working around the cast, so he was feeling a lot less handicapped. "Really good."

John's smile was almost shy again. "Cool."

The surprise dessert was chocolate cake. Chocolate cake. "Where did you get this," he marveled.

John flushed, obviously pleased that he was pleased. "Favor points, Rodney. That's what favor points are for."

Favor points. Okay, now he got it, and good Lord, John had used up favor points for him. He savored the cake with his coffee, watched John set up the laptop and move the table so he could be comfortable on his bed, let John give him a hand moving from the wheelchair to his bed, and prop his leg up with a blanket folded around one of his packs.

He nearly choked on his coffee when he realized that he was being...courted. Except, did guys actually court each other or was this just John being John?

Rodney had already figured a couple of things out about John, both of which might seem diametrically opposite to most observers, but which made perfect sense to him. John had a basic genuine sweetness underlying most of that almost professional charm; John also had a ferocity that meant you had better not get in his way if he was protecting his people and his turf. Mostly his people, Rodney rather thought, because the only time he'd seen John get really furious was when Bates had suspected Teyla of being a spy for the Wraith. John was also even better defended than he was, most days, so this was...seductive, and not just in the sexual sense.

This courting might be more of John's basic sweetness, Rodney thought, or maybe not, maybe it was really courting, and that last made his stomach do a lazy, not at all unpleasant roll. .

Courted, he thought and took another swallow of coffee, thinking that he really, really, really had to talk to Carson. And even if he did, he had a sinking feeling that he'd been right the first time. He was totally screwed, only not in a good way, because if they were under some sort of influence from the alien love drug, he couldn't really take advantage of John.

Even if John might want him to.

 

The stitches on Rodney's head came off in a week and his hair began to grow back decently. The cast on Rodney's wrist came off in a month and then, for good or ill, it was just the cast on his leg. The bruises from the fall had finally healed and faded away to nothing, which was a nice change from the mottled look.

He and John watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and then they'd worked their way through the Star Trek movies, including the Next Generation films, although they had a lively debate over whether or not those could even be termed Star Trek movies. Then, of course, more science fiction, since they were living it, with the classic Outlander—High Noon in outer space, John insisted—and the more recent Pitch Black. The Butterfly Effect set off another lively debate on chaos theory, which shouldn't have surprised him, he knew John was far more intelligent than he liked to let on, and the mathematics of chaos theory was, apparently, something that John was incredibly well versed on.

"Well," John admitted finally, "I did have to get a master's to make major, you know."

"You got it in chaos theory?" He arched a skeptical eyebrow.

John flushed and shrugged. "No, I got it in math and physics, I wrote my thesis on chaos theory and strange attractors."

He opened his mouth, closed it, stared. "Oh," he finally said weakly.

John shrugged. "I was feeling sorta lazy, so I didn't get way into non-linear geometry, per se."

He felt sort of flushed himself. Turned on, in fact. "What the hell were you doing flying choppers at McMurdo?"

John's mouth quirked. "I'm a pilot, Rodney. That's what I do and who I am."

A pilot who wrote his master's thesis on chaos theory and strange attractors. Who was feeling lazy, so didn't 'get way' into non-linear geometry for his master's thesis. Oh, hell, he was turned on, and he still hadn't talked to Carson because he hadn't wanted to. He was such a jerk, and this was bad, very bad.

But he didn't say anything, didn't say what he should have said, and then the next afternoon, he was swinging along on crutches toward the briefing room, because Elizabeth had requested his expertise, and nearly, literally, ran into John.

"Whoa, where are you headed?" John frowned. "You're heading toward stairs, Rodney, have you practiced using those things with stairs?"

"Going up is easy, going down, well, I'll just take my time."

John looked nervously toward the stairs. "Why the hell do you need to, anyway?"

"I'm not going to fall down," Rodney said, a little amused. "Elizabeth asked me to come in for this briefing."

"What briefing?" John frowned. "Our team isn't out today."

"Stackhouse's is, I think." Rodney started toward the stairs and John walked with him, still frowning. "John, I can get down the stairs."

"I know, I'm just, you know, making sure." Crooked grin. "Besides, you're our team member, not a member of Stackhouse's team, so I want to make sure he's not trying to co-opt you."

It really was funny; John went down the stairs ahead of him, turned around to watch him negotiate them with a fair amount of badly masked tension. Up the next flight was better, if only because John was behind him and he couldn't see that tension, and then they were at the briefing room door, and Elizabeth looked up in surprise to see John come in.

John smiled sunnily at her, the professionally charming smile. "Just looking out for my team member," he told Elizabeth.

Rodney snorted and maneuvered over to a chair, sat in it.

Stackhouse glanced at him, glanced at John and then at Elizabeth and there was something in his expression that made Rodney uneasy. When he glanced at Elizabeth, he saw something in her expression that made him more uneasy. She, however, was looking at John, and he finally realized that what was making him uneasy is that she was looking at John like she was not only unsurprised that he'd escorted Rodney to the briefing room, she knew full well what was going on in his head to make him do it.

Rodney's self-indulgence and refusal to face facts was going to fuck seriously with John's career (if they got back to Earth) and at the very least with John's standing with the military half of the expedition.

He had to talk to Carson.

So as soon as he could leave the briefing room, he went to the infirmary.

"Well, Rodney, yes, I told you weeks ago, either the wafers or the drink contained some sort of tryptamine compound that, unlike most of the alkaloid tryptamine hallucinogenic compounds, did not appear to make any of you ill. I wasna concerned, your dopamine levels hadn't been unduly effected, and I've seen no variant levels since. Believe me, after your fall, I checked, I was that afraid that perhaps they had dropped below normal and you'd perhaps jumped."

Rodney's jaw dropped. "What?"

Carson shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Well, I was just taking a cautious view, but I soon realized that I was over-cautious. Your levels were within the norm for you."

Rodney mulled that over. "Do tryptamines make you more susceptible to suggestion?" he asked nervously. "And if so, how long would that last?"

Carson studied him. "Rodney, you had better sit down and tell me what you're worried about."

"What's your stance on doctor patient confidentiality?"

That earned him an offended look. "I feel quite strongly about it. I'm not going to discuss anything with Elizabeth unless I feel it's a genuine risk to either your safety or the safety of the city, Rodney."

"Okay, you better sit, too." Rodney lowered himself into a chair and proceeded to give Carson an expurgated, but highly evocative version of his 'vision' or dream or whatever the fuck it had been. He told Carson he suspected John's dream had been similar, and told Carson that in his vision he'd seen Teyla and Ford together and that now they actually did appear to be getting up close and personal.

Carson eyed him. "Rodney," he asked gently. "When you ask how long a person's suggestibility lasts, may I assume you're still feeling something you hadn't expected to feel for John Sheppard?"

He really, really, really didn't want to discuss his feelings. "More to the point, Carson, he still appears to be feeling something. And obviously, Teyla and Ford are feeling something for each other."

"That may be," Carson allowed. "But what makes you think that this is a result of suggestibility as opposed to, say, natural attraction?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Carson, I'm not exactly a closed minded individual in these terms, but I haven't felt any serious attraction to another man before now. And can you seriously expect me to believe that John Sheppard, Major John Sheppard, carrier of P-90s, genetically programmed to be a hero and macho pilot and soldier, has secretly been carrying a torch for me since our arrival on Atlantis?"

"Well, you met him at McMurdo, Rodney," Carson said, a classic non sequitur if ever there was one. "And there is a distinct imbalance between the males and the females in this expedition." Carson shrugged. "I'm a doctor, I know all too well that appearances can be deceiving. Remind me some time to tell you about the laddie with the vacuum cleaner hose."

"I'd rather you didn't," Rodney told him tartly and suppressed the perverse desire to ask anyway.

"And as for Teyla and Lieutenant Ford, I dinna know if you've noticed or not, but both of them are attractive, healthy young people. Why shouldn't they be attracted to each other? I'm very much afraid you may be jumping to conclusions, Rodney."

Rodney was very much afraid that Carson might be at least half right, but they were dealing with alien substances. If the Wraith could suck the life from a man, why couldn't some other alien inject something else? Like a sudden attraction and desire and, yes, even affection. "So there's nothing in the test results to suggest there's anything...suspicious."

"Nothing," Carson said and then, more carefully. "Rodney, if you're having trouble coming to terms with this, I can set you up an appointment with Dr. Heightmeyer."

"Oh, for God's sake," Rodney told him irritably and got up from the chair, fitting the crutches under his arms. "I'm not having trouble coming to terms, I'm having trouble believing that Major Sheppard has suddenly decided I'm the object of his affection. I mean, wouldn't you?"

He saw Carson really try to consider it. "Well, in retrospect, Rodney, the two of you do go on a bit in a way that could be considered almost flirtatious."

Good lord.

It was time to bite the bullet, he decided and headed for his own quarters as quickly as possible.

By the time John poked his head in, Rodney was so nervous, that he just blurted it out. "John, I think you seriously need to consider the possibility that you're operating under the influence of that Ythaqan drug."

John blinked at him. "Huh?" And then came in. "Run that by me again?"

It had been hard enough the first time. But he repeated it.

"Rodney, Doc tested us, there's nothing of it left. It's, what, metabolized." John looked at him, looked away shiftily.

"I know the drug's metabolized, but I think the influence isn't." He couldn't decide if he was relieved or upset by John's reaction. "And I think you're reacting to it, and that maybe it's not a good idea for us to spend so much time together."

Oh, God, John gave him a wounded look. "You think I'm hanging out with you because I'm under alien influence? Jesus, Rodney, thanks a lot. That's not real kind to either of us, is it?"

Desperation made Rodney's voice sharp. "And you're not feeling anything out of the ordinary for me, right?"

John went scarlet and managed to look even more hurt. "Oh, Christ, okay, you figured that out, but Rodney, have I done even one fucking thing out of line? I would never, never, never do anything to make you uncomfortable, goddammit, I was just keeping it to myself and—" John took in a breath, let it out. "Well, obviously I did make you uncomfortable. Sorry. I—just. I'm sorry." And he turned on his heel, went out the door.

Oh, hell, hell, hell. Rodney's throat hurt. "Dammit, John, come back here!" He grabbed his crutches and got them under his arms, swung toward the door, and hit the control, feeling a kind of furious terror that now he'd screwed up even the friendship. "John!"

John was standing in the hall, clearly uncertain. "What?" Not quite truculence, but not exactly A-okay, either.

Rodney took in a deep breath. "Can you just come back inside so we can talk about this?"

John's expression went shuttered. "Rodney, we don't have to talk about it."

"Yes, we do, dammit, because I don't think you're the only one under the influence." John looked away from him. "So am I."

John's head snapped back around and John's eyes widened. "Oh." Faintly, and with evident relief. "I didn't make you uncomfortable?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "No, you didn't, will you please come back in here? This isn't exactly the kind of conversation we should be having in the hall."

John looked around, blushed again. "Yeah, I guess not."

John really was so damn cute when he blushed, Rodney thought and wanted to slap himself in the head for that thought. Gritting his teeth, he swung back over to his bed and sat down, waited while John came in and shut the door and then sat down on Rodney's desk, about as far from Rodney as he could humanly get in the small room.

He also looked at his hands instead of Rodney. "I meant it; I would never have done anything to make you uncomfortable deliberately."

Rodney sighed. "Oh, believe me, if anything, you're making me too comfortable."

Worried look. "I'm—"

"Don't apologize." Rodney sighed, lifted his cast to the bed. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but these aren't exactly normal feelings for you."

John frowned at him. "That's kind of judgemental, isn't it? And anyway, how the hell would you know?"

Oh, this was bad, even worse than he'd thought; he thought John was downright adorable when he got snarky. Very bad. Very, very bad.

"Have you ever had a relationship, excuse me, a sexually and emotionally intimate relationship with a man?" He had a feeling he had be as precise as possible in this discussion since he'd already gotten off to a terrible start."

"Have you?" John asked defensively.

"That's not the point," Rodney said through his teeth. "I'm not military, nobody's going to give a damn about me."

"You're wrong about that," John sniped and then looked at his hands again. "And not exactly."

"Not exactly?" Not exactly? What the hell did 'not exactly' mean? "How can you not exactly have a sexually intimate relationship? You either do or don't."

John pointed at him. "You said sexually and emotionally intimate, Rodney."

He blinked. So he had. "Well, define not exactly."

John folded his arms. "It means not exactly." He swung his legs. "It means I did some fooling around when I was younger."

Rodney narrowed his eyes. "Define fooling around."

John glared at him. "I'm not sure why my past experience is even a subject for discussion, Rodney. It doesn't relate to my feelings right now."

He stressed the word 'feelings' in a decidedly snippy way, and Rodney threw up his hands. "Fine, whatever, if you want to torpedo your career, that's your choice, I was just trying to do the right thing. It's not exactly easy for me, either, you know."

John seemed to think that over. "How not easy?"

"What?" Feeling harried, Rodney studied John's face. "As in I had an extremely X rated dream or vision or whatever the hell it was during that rite and it's been extremely difficult to keep my hands to myself since then, and let's not even talk about the whole feelings issue."

John actually seemed to perk up. He certainly got off the desk. "As in you had an extremely X rated dream about me?"

The man was maddening. He wrote his master's thesis on chaos theory and strange attractors and he hadn't figured out Rodney's damn dream at all. "Precisely."

Uh oh, John was definitely brightening, John dragged the desk chair over to the bed. "As in, um, you were involved, too?"

"As in I was fucking your brains out," Rodney snapped, "Although I'm starting to think that wouldn't take much. What is it about alien influence that you aren't getting?"

"I'm not under alien influence," John said, still maddeningly pleased. "I know I'm not. I'm just...a late bloomer. If I didn't make you uncomfortable, how did you figure it out?"

"Carson figured it out," Rodney muttered. "I thought I was the only one with the problem."

Wrong thing to say. John just looked happier and dragged the chair closer to the bed. "Feelings about me, you mean?"

"Yes," Rodney agreed and sighed. "You're insane, you know that? You're career military."

That got him a goofily sweet smile. He was so screwed. The sweetness was even better than the blushing or snarking.

"Well, not really, I just hadn't decided on what to be when I grew up, especially since it had to include flying and there aren't a lot of career paths for that kind of flying outside of the whole military shtick." John smiled again, this time sort of shy and delighted and dear God, they were both insane. "And besides, fuck 'em, they can't tell me how I'm supposed to feel. Rodney, can I kiss you or will that freak you out more?"

All the blood that should have been supplying Rodney's brain and increasing his ability to argue rationally with a clearly irrational Air Force major promptly moved south and instead he said, in a stunned voice, "Kiss me?"

"Okay." John moved closer and did.

The kiss was sort of tentative and they bumped each others noses before getting it right, but John's mouth was very nice, very nice indeed, and he found himself licking his way past John's lips and into John's mouth and instead of doing the sensible thing and panicking, John just went with the flow and sucked on his tongue. John had eaten something salty, there was a trace of salt in the corners of his mouth, and Rodney licked that up before diving in again, and the beard stubble felt a little odd, but a kiss was definitely a kiss, and a really great kiss was, well, fantastic and this was turning into a really great kiss.

John's hair was even softer than it looked, Rodney discovered and wound his fingers through it before he remembered this wasn't exactly the best way to discourage John from career suicide.

He jerked back a little, but John's mouth followed. Sneaky bastard.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Rodney said, a little short of breath. "Teyla and Ford—"

"That's their business," John murmured and sucked gently on Rodney's lower lip for a heartbeat. "Not mine."

Rodney struggled to gather his scattered thoughts, but John smelled good, John felt good, and John tasted good, so he just gave in again. John had been courting him, John had brought him coffee and chocolate and hadn't run away when he'd asked him to come back in and talk about this, John had wanted to kiss him as much, evidently, as he'd been wanting to kiss John.

John finally drew back, flushed and puffy-lipped. "Wow."

"Wow?"

John nodded, a little dazed. "Oh, yeah, wow. That was what I call a good kiss."

"That was more than one kiss, math genius," Rodney muttered and tried to get some of the blood in his embarrassingly obvious erection to come back up top and help him think. "So, how much younger were you when you did this fooling around?" One of them should probably have more than theoretical experience, he thought, and since that's all he had, he was hoping John could handle the practical.

Another shifty look and John tried to kiss him again.

Rodney knew that look. That was John's "Why, yes, I did volunteer Dr. Beckett, but I'm sure he'll be happy to do it" look. That was John's, "Tell us about your weapon and by the way, did we mention that we woke the Wraith up early from their nap so I'm afraid you don't have fifty years?" look. It was John's, "Don't you think we should let them finish telling us about their plan before we start shooting holes in it?" look. It was John's "Did I mention I like ferris wheels?" look.

"Define younger," he told John and put a hand on John's chest.

"A lot younger," John told him, "And a lot younger than I'm going to be when I fool around with you if you keep holding me off."

Rodney smirked. "Define a lot."

John rolled his eyes. "Okay, I was twelve and at camp and it was one of my camp buddies and all we did was basically jerk each other off."

"Twelve?" Rodney hooted. "If I'd known we were counting back before adolescence, I'd have counted my eight year old hero worship of the fifteen year old next door."

"Hey, you asked."

John's mouth was sulky and that was giving Rodney bad desires. "You're really very hot when you pout," he told John and kissed him again.

John was obviously an opportunist because he didn't even protest that characterization, he just ended up on Rodney's bed, stretched out with him and doing a lot more kissing, a little cautious touching, and a lot of heavy breathing.

A lot of heavy breathing, and who knew that kissing John would be so damned exciting? Who knew that Rodney kissing John would get John so excited? Who knew that an excited John would get Rodney so revved up. Kissing John was good, better than good, kissing John was incredibly good. Rodney liked it. Rodney's body liked it. John's body liked it. So he kept on doing it.

Touching John was good, too, better than good. Rodney really liked it, liked it as well as he liked the kissing. Rodney's body pretty much felt the same. John and John's body definitely really liked it. John cupped Rodney's head between his hands and just licked his way into kiss after kiss, rubbing himself on the thigh Rodney had pressed between John's legs, pressing his own thigh against Rodney's erection and making little excited sounds in his throat that were going to drive Rodney around the bend if he didn't get to touch more of John than sliding his hands under John's shirt or waistband allowed.

Rodney guessed that pretty well decided the question of whether or not this was just confusion, and broke free of the kiss. "John." John burrowed into his throat, licking and nipping. He repressed the moan that was building and squeezed John's ass. "John! Focus!"

"I am focused," John complained and lifted his head. "What?"

God. John's mouth was puffy from all the kissing. "Take off your clothes."

John blinked and his expression went very pleased as well as intently focused. "Really?"

"Really," he agreed.

Very, very focused. "Are you going to take yours off? Because I really think you should." Very earnest tone.

Well, no kidding. He rolled his eyes. "John."

John shut his mouth and sat up, pulled his shirt off, which had the effect of making all of his hair stand on end instead of just part of it. Rodney had, of course, seen John's chest before, but it wasn't a moment he cared to recall particularly, so he looked his fill now. John gave him a hopeful, expectant look, so Rodney sat up, took off his own shirt, and then pinched John's left nipple lightly. John promptly pushed him back down on the bed and kissed him again, pressed him down, held him down, and Rodney liked that even better. This had to be the best win-win situation he'd ever been in.

Bare chest to bare chest was good, but Rodney reached between them and fumbled John's pants open, slid his hand underneath the waistband of John's underwear to clasp firm, hot and slightly damp flesh. John shuddered and gasped into his mouth. "Rodney."

"John," he said and squeezed John's cock, slipped his other hand down the back of John's pants and squeezed his ass, too.

John bit his chin and sat back on his heels, reached for Rodney's waistband. "Can I?" he breathed and worked them open.

Rodney tugged at John's underwear. "Get rid of them," he ordered and had to physically remove John's hand from his groin before he lost control completely. "Now."

John knelt up, pushed pants and underwear down and then rolled back to deal with shoes and socks before kicking free of them.

Rodney's mouth went dry. John's skin was pale, except for his nipples and his cock. His cock was flushed a deep red, and rose to Rodney's touch; John made one of those sounds in his throat and tipped his head back when Rodney stroked upward experimentally and probably too lightly. He knew what he liked; it was going to be fun finding out what John liked, he thought, and kissed John sloppily, lewdly and hungrily.

John's skin was hot, and John fumbled again at Rodney's waist.

Rodney helped with that, mostly because dealing with the cast was tricky, and then yanked John down on top of him, between his legs. John burrowed into his throat, nipped and sucked and moved down, kissing his collar bone and shoulder and rubbing pretty damn frantically against Rodney.

They were both about as suave as fourteen year olds, Rodney thought hilariously, and probably going to last about as long, so it was too bad they didn't have the recovery time of fourteen year olds. He cupped John's ass with both hands, ran his fingertips down the cleft and pressed inward, which made John whimper.

"Can we," John gasped, "I mean, Rodney, would you fuck me?"

Oh, shit, the words bypassed the part of Rodney's brain that processed language and went straight to images and half-remembered sensations from that goddamned dream and Rodney arched up, felt his balls draw up and came hard and hot against John's belly. John moaned and rubbed more frantically, his fingers digging into Rodney's shoulder and hip. Still trembling through his own aftershocks, Rodney reached between them, closed his fingers around John's cock, concentrating on the head, and God, John shuddered and came, slippery heat pulsing over his fingers between them.

It wasn't fancy and it wasn't smooth, but it was arguably the best sex Rodney had had in years. It was certainly the most exciting thing Rodney remembered doing for a long, long while, and he was doing it, after all, with John, who he had once dismissed as a lightweight pretty boy, who had proven himself to be anything but lightweight at all, and that just made it hotter.

Rodney did suspect that referring to John as pretty might well reduce his chances of having wonderfully clumsy and exciting sex again, so he wasn't going to mention it. At all.

Even if it were true, especially with John's face and body flushed and his mouth all puffy from all the kissing.

Instead, he gentled his touch, put an arm around John's waist with his free arm and held him close.

"We'll get better," John finally sighed against his throat.

Laughter bubbled up. "We would have to," he agreed.

John poked him. "We can do lots of practicing."

"Lots and lots of practicing," Rodney agreed. "Maybe it doesn't matter if we really are under an alien influence."

"I told you, we're not." John rubbed his cheek against Rodney's throat. "We're both late bloomers."

Rodney laughed again, feeling delightfully languid and relaxed. "Or else it's that we're both under the same alien influence."

John sighed happily. "Truth is, I don't much care."

There wasn't anything sensible, at least that he could think of, to say to that, so Rodney didn't try; he did, however, wrap his arm more tightly around John.

 

In time, of course, the cast came off and Rodney was actually cleared for missions again. Just in time, it seemed, because Carson had a plan.

Carson still wanted to study the Ythaqa after interviewing Teyla in depth about the intent and alleged result of the Ythaqan rite. He'd also interviewed everyone on Rodney's team in depth, singly and as a group, with Heightmeyer included as an interviewer. John and Rodney and Ford and Teyla had talked around the whole thing without ever really describing what they'd personally experienced, and it was Heightmeyer's considered opinion that they'd shared the vision because of the bonds formed by people whose lives depend on one another.

Rodney had wondered about that, really, and later he and John had gotten down to some serious discussion of their own respective dreams or visions or whatever they were, and it was weird that they'd been identical, save for the point of view.

"I wonder if they'll make Beckett go through the rite," John murmured.

"If they do, I don't think I want to have to do it with him, and I don't want to know what his vision is," Rodney said and yelped when John poked him again. "Well, seriously. It's embarrassing enough to know that Teyla and Ford really did share ours."

"That is slightly disturbing, yes." John didn't sound all that disturbed, though. Of course, he was nibbling on Rodney's earlobe again, which might have been why.

"Sometimes, so are you, but in a much better way," Rodney added, not complaining at all.

"Disturbing in a good way? Rodney, you sweet talker," John murmured and that was the end of talking for that evening.

Now, Rodney was sitting in a briefing, ignoring Elizabeth and staring at John's profile. Actually, he was admiring John's profile and thinking about the notion of courtship.

"Major?"

Rodney glanced over, saw Elizabeth was looking at John; he stopped thinking about courtship and started thinking about the proposed mission: Carson and Dr. Heightmeyer and the Ythaqa.

"Well, I've got some reservations about sending more people in there to trip out to get the Ythaqa trust them," John said seriously. "But everyone here was pretty carefully screened psychologically, so if you think it's worth the risk, it's your call. We're all okay, Doc says, not a single nasty side effect." He glanced at Rodney, winked.

One corner of Rodney's mouth lifted briefly in the ghost of what he was sure was a very smug smile.

Fortunately oblivious to that, Weir nodded seriously. "Carson?"

Carson launched into the theory he and Dr. Heightmeyer had developed after their interviews and Rodney tuned half-way out, letting his gaze move back to John's profile. He was starting to think their feelings for each other had been there for a while, and the vision or dream or whatever it was had just...been explicitly illustrating that. After all, hadn't Carson said they had definitely behaved flirtatiously with one another? All those math calculations John did in his head.

Who the hell knew?

John was getting really good at Rodney watching, too, Rodney had noticed The fact that no one seemed to notice or to think anything about it suggested that the notion of a pre-existing emotional connection was correct and that John had, in fact, been Rodney watching a lot before either of them noticed him doing it. Besides, John always added, if any did notice, he had a perfectly serviceable explanation: he'd left Rodney with Stackhouse and Markham and they hadn't been able to keep Rodney from doing something that had landed him in two casts and with a concussion.

Rodney wasn't sure how he felt about that particular explanation, but most of the time he found it somewhat funny.

"Very well," Elizabeth said finally, when Carson ran down. "You have a go. Just be careful."

"Yes, ma'am," John said cheerfully and got up. "Let's go, people."

Despite Carson's resistance to 'gate travel, the doctor was downright excited about whether or not the Ythaqa might have some genetic connection with the Atlanteans of ten thousand years earlier. Dr. Heightmeyer just wanted to do some empirical testing on whether or not the shared vision was, in anyway, due to actual telepathic transmission by the Tressalar and her consort, or if there was overt communication between the vision-seekers that they no longer remembered after the vision.

Or something. John tilted a sidelong look at Rodney. "What do you think they'll see," he asked.

Rodney snorted. "Not us, I hope." It was still mildly unnerving to realize that all four of them had, evidently shared the same dream, even in the rough summary form.

John grinned at Rodney. "Did I mention it's kind of nice to have you back on full duty?" he murmured, his voice pitched for Rodney's ears only.

Rodney smirked at him. "Is that why you threatened to strangle me the day before yesterday."

John's grin broadened. "Yeah, it was great. Back to normal."

Rodney felt his lips twitched. "It's frightening, but not only do I understand that, I'm pretty sure I agree."

Maybe they ought to figure out some sort of gift for the Ythaqa. That thought kept him smiling all the way to the jumper bay.

John, Rodney noted, once they'd arrived, seemed to be in an indecently cheerful mood considering how cranky they'd all been when they left the Ythaqa after their last visit.

He didn't blame John; he was feeling pretty cheerful about it himself, although part of that could be that he was looking forward to Carson's dealing with whatever popped up out of his subconscious given Carson's conspicuous inability to understand Rodney's worries after his experience.

That probably made him an even pettier person than he already acknowledged, so it was with some relief that he noticed that Ford and Teyla were also pretty damn cheerful about it, too.

The Tressalar and her court greeted them with hospitality and listened to Teyla explain that Beckett and Dr. Heightmeyer would also like to become 'known' to the Ythaqa so that they could stay and visit with them.

At that moment, the Tressalar's mouth curved and she looked at Rodney, looked at John and Ford and Teyla in turn. He didn't know if it was telepathy or human nature, but he was willing to bet an entire month's salary that she knew they were amused by the idea of Carson and Heightmeyer going through the rite. The Tressalar seemed to find that amusing.

More discussion and the Tressalar finally agreed. However, only Carson and Heightmeyer would undergo the rite this time; he and John and Ford and Teyla were shown to yet another pavilion, this one also lavish with furs and cushions and with draperies to separate the pavilion into separate sections..

Attendants brought them food and drink, and this time it was more like the breakfast they'd enjoyed the morning after the night before, except for the beverage, which was sweet and cold and spicy and a little reminiscent of the drink they'd had in the rite.

John tasted it and gave Rodney a smoldering look over the top of the cup. "Teyla, is this the same drink in the rite?"

"No, Major." She looked away from a quiet conversation with Ford. "It is not. This is just a kind of spiced ale the Ythaqa make."

John took another swallow and put the cup aside regretfully. "I think probably we shouldn't indulge in too much of it, even if it is only ale. Now, we survived just fine last time, even while tripping, and we have a nice agreement with these nice folks, so I don't think a watch is strictly necessary, but we might want to split up the night in case one of the docs has a bad trip."

"Why don't you and Dr. McKay get some rest, sir," Ford said earnestly. "Teyla and I can take first watch."

John looked at him, and Rodney could swear he could hear the sound of John's mental gears shifting. "That's a good idea, thanks, Lieutenant."

Teyla smiled at Rodney and spoke to the attendants who immediately began rearranging furs and cushions and letting down a drapery against one side of the pavilion. "You and Dr. McKay may take your ease in that section, they tell me, Major."

John looked, gave her an odd look, and finally nodded. "Good enough. If anything weird happens, and I do mean anything, no matter how small, you wake us, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir." Ford smiled a little.

Rodney, curious, had already lifted the drapery to see a very comfortable bed made of cushions and furs and some fine grained fabric. "Nice," he told John.

John looked over his shoulder at the bed and turned around hastily, bumping up against Rodney's back. "That's nice," he breathed, his breath warm on Rodney's neck. "That's like my, um, dream. Sort of."

Rodney blinked, and shivered. Well, not exactly. But still, it was nice, John was right about that. He stepped inside and let the curtain fall. There was a low table beside the bed and on that table stood a lamp, and what looked a lot like a opaque and decorative glass jar. He wondered about the latter, and sat down on the furs to take off his shoes and socks. John was already sitting on the bed when he looked up, lifting up the jar and examining it.

Rodney shrugged out of his vest, and his jacket, got up and walked over to sit beside John, relishing the softness under his feet. "What is it?"

"Dunno," John said and experimented with the top of the jaw. "Oh, there."

The contents smelled clean and pleasant and dear God, it was slippery, slick, and if it wasn't personal lubricant, he'd eat his shoes.

John looked at him, and Jesus, John's pupils were dilated, John put the jar down on the table again and then Rodney was bowled over and had an extremely aroused and squirming Air Force major on top of him, busily attempting to remove Rodney's clothing and check for his early childhood tonsillectomy.

When John drew back to shed his own vest and jacket, Rodney managed to get a breath. "Ford and Teyla," he gasped.

"I don't care," John said and pulled his shirt over his head. "Rodney, we all had the same dream, and believe me, they both know."

He put his hands at John's waist and started working on unfastening John's pants. "At least turn the lamp out."

"Uh uh." John leaned down and sucked on his lower lip, drew back and made a frustrated sound before rolling off Rodney to take care of his own pants.

Rodney took advantage of that to sit up and pull off his shirt, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants before leaning back to raise his ass off the bed and shuck boxers and pants both. He managed to kick free of them before John landed back in his lap, naked and hot and entirely desirable.

He was very aware of the soft voices on the other side of the drapery, and he was glad it seemed to be fairly opaque, and then the only thing he was glad about was John. He rolled John over on his back, pushed John's wrists into the bedding and held them down while he worked his way down John's throat and chest.

"Rodney." It was the loudest stage-whisper Rodney had ever heard, and he laughed silently against John's stomach before moving back up to let John lick his way into another kiss.

There was no way Teyla and Ford weren't going to figure out what was going on behind the draperies, Rodney thought, but frankly, he just couldn't get too upset about it. For one thing, John felt too good beneath him, hot and a little wild and hard against his hip, and he rocked his hips down and sucked on John's tongue.

A low moan and John hooked one leg over Rodney's hip. "Rodney," he said, in that ridiculous stage-whisper.

"Shhh," Rodney whispered, not quite as loudly. "What?"

"Can you fuck me, please?"

At least that whisper was really a whisper, Rodney thought, just before his brain shut own. "Can I fuck you?" he repeated, almost soundlessly.

"We can use that stuff in the jar," John whispered and rocked up against him.

"You're certifiable," Rodney murmured and kissed him again, long and hard. He fumbled for the jar and closed his fingers around the glass, pulled it toward them. John's arm went around his waist, and his hips rocked up again. "Are you sure?" He sucked on John's throat, felt him shudder with pleasure.

"I'm sure," John whispered and spread his legs. Rodney shifted, stroked John's inner thigh, cupped his balls, all soft and warm against Rodney's palm. "Please, Rodney."

Rodney fumbled again with the jar, dipped his fingers into the contents and shifted to stroke behind John's balls, to stroke it into John's ass. John whimpered and pushed his ass onto that finger, and Rodney kissed John's mouth again before moving down to nip and suck at John's nipple. John whimpered again, trying to muffle the sound with his hand, and put his other hand on the back of Rodney's head, holding it there.

He loved the way John's nipples peaked up under his tongue and teeth, loved the way John reacted, and John's body was so tight and hot and he was going to lose it if he didn't focus, he really was. This was too damned much like his extremely pornographic vision, and while there was nothing wrong with that, it was cranking up his libido something amazing. He pulled his finger out, scooped up more and worked two fingers into John, slowly and carefully, and he bit John's nipple gently to distract him from this, bit it and then sucked on it to soothe. He moved to the other nipple, not wanting it to feel ignored, and John kept making these barely audible noises in his throat, which was pretty hot all by itself, knowing that John was feeling so much he couldn't just be quiet.

John pulled his legs up, put his feet flat on the furs and pushed into Rodney's fingers, gasped out loud as Rodney found the sweet spot and pressed his fingers in more deeply. "Oh, fuck, that's it." Not quite soundlessly, but close enough. Hot skin, hot flesh, and Rodney wasn't sure his brain was going to work right until they got back to Atlantis. He leaned up, sucked on John's lower lip, slid his tongue into John's mouth and John's hand was at the back of his neck again, holding him there. John wouldn't stop moving, couldn't stop moving and he had better get this show on the road, or God knew what would come out of John's mouth when he stopped kissing him.

Maybe Ford and Teyla knew, but he really didn't want Ford edified by the sound of his commanding officer begging "Fuck me now, Rodney". He found the jar by touch and scooped some up, let it warm a little on his fingers, and stroked it over his cock. That might keep him from just imploding, especially if he concentrated on Wraith and Goa'uld and life sucking Wraith bugs. He shifted again, back between John's legs, pushed one leg up over his forearm and guided himself to press against that slick opening.

John gasped as the head of Rodney's cock opened him, gasped and bit Rodney's shoulder before he took in a breath and pushed down, letting Rodney slide all the way in. God, Rodney couldn't think, found it difficult to get a deep enough breath and he kissed John's mouth again, moved his hands to John's hips and lifted them for a better angle, wanting to drive in and hit that sweet spot for John's pleasure. He wanted to make it so good for John, as good for John as it was for him, held and clasped by hot flesh. John's cock was hard and slick, and he closed his still slippery fingers over it, stroked upward and leaned in to kiss John's throat, to bite at his lips, to tease his nipples, and John was all hunger and greedy movement, legs locked around Rodney as Rodney thrust, driving in again and again.

John was panting, fingers wrapped around Rodney's forearm, guiding his hand and Rodney thrust hard, licked John's throat. John's legs tightened, forcing Rodney in more deeply and that was about all he could stand, he wasn't going to last much longer and then John made this incredible sound in his throat, and bit his free hand, trying so hard to be quiet, but he arched his back and came, hot and slick and all over Rodney's chest and belly, and his own, and then Rodney couldn't hold back, he thrust in hard and fast and it was white hot pleasure, so good, so damned good, and he was biting John's shoulder, not hard, but enough to mark him, right in the crook between neck and shoulder..

Then it was languid kissing, and he pulled out of John, rolled over to pull John closer, and John was breathing raggedly. "Jesus, Rodney, " John whispered, "That was, God."

He nuzzled John's hair. "Oh, yeah." Faintly. His heart was still hammering in his chest. "John, my God." More languid kissing and his heart slowed, he felt John going boneless with satiation and contentment. With him. God, with him.

Teyla and Ford were just going to have to take the whole watch, he decided and found John's underwear to use to swab them both down.

John roused enough to lean up on one elbow. "Those are mine!" he said, not quite so sotto voce.

"Your point?" Rodney's mouth twitched. "Commando is a good look, I think. You can handle it."

John grinned and rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks."

"No," Rodney said, and ruffled John's hair. "Thank you."

John chuckled. "No, thank you."

"You idiot," Rodney said fondly. Tripping in the name of diplomacy might not be something he was going to recommend very often, but it was undeniable that if the Ythaqa hadn't required it of them, things might not have ended up in courtship.

Now, he just had to get the hang of it himself. John deserved that much.

And maybe, he thought, rubbing his palm over the smooth skin on John's hip and seeing that slightly dazed, slightly smug expression, maybe even more.


End file.
